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Sun
Barracks 2 had been unusually quiet for the last few days, nothing much to say. The reason was young Carter, sunny Andrew, lying in the Colonel's quarters, fighting a bad case of influenza. Nights and days of cold washcloths on a fevered brow and cheeks went by without any signs of improvement. The guys had barely been able to wake up their young friend to feed him a few spoons of LeBeau's homemade chicken soup. Sleepless nights for Hogan's team and their sick comrade.
Meanwhile Andrew Carter had been in a restless sleep, trapped in his fever dreams, haunted by his own demons. Wilson came by and checked on the young man, shaking his head. Men full of despair, anger and fear for their friend. Some of them sending their prayers. Some of them have already given up hope.
Carter not waking up.
A few gasping breaths, fighting for air.
Silence.
Tears and sobs.
Soft breathing.
A few mumbled words.
But not from the men.
Carter's voice?
Checking on the young man.
Andrew Carter had opened his eyes and wearily smiled at his friends tear stained faces, both happy and confused.
Cheers and joy from all the men. Spreading the news. Fetching Wilson.
Fever's broke. Recovery.
Andrew Carter, the sunshine of Stalag XIII, overcame his sickness and his friends felt the sun rise inside their hearts.